


Desk Closet Pop Folk

by odoridango



Series: Tell It Like It Is [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odoridango/pseuds/odoridango
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Scouting Legion’s newest recruits get lost, freak out, and hide in an empty room. Erwin and Eren walk into that room. They bang. Loudly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desk Closet Pop Folk

**Author's Note:**

> Bad porn for this snkkink prompt:
> 
> So what if the 104th Trainees Squad happen to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, maybe somewhere they aren't supposed to be when Eren and his lover stumble in. The group hides thinking that they would wait out the pair leaving only for the couple to start getting it on. Everyone can hear every single exchange of moan and whimpers.
> 
> It's highly awkward.  
> And also highly hot.
> 
> Who knew the Jaeger kid who seemed to only think of killing titans could get like this.
> 
> Bonus! If Jean is so sexually scarred that he can't even look at Eren without remembering what went down and blushing.

They are completely, totally lost.

It’s one thing to obey the Corporal’s orders to clean the rest of the dirty rooms in Scouting Legion HQ, finding them is a completely different matter. The rows and rows of stone corridors all look the same, dark and lined with what sunlight can reach from the outside, even Armin can’t remember the precise twists and turns they took to get here.

“Do you think if we found Eren he’d know his way around?” Sasha asks, glancing about in curiosity.

“Maybe,” Armin replies, sighing, “He has been here longer than we have. But headquarters is so large I don’t really think he would.” Mikasa just tugs her scarf up to better cover her nose and mouth, a small furrow in her brow, annoyed at all the dust.

Jean groans despondently. “Are you kidding? This place is an actual castle. You could probably kill someone down here and no one would find the body.”

The sound of a door creaking open echoes down the corridor.

“…what was that,” Connie asks, swallowing nervously. “Someone tell me I was hearing things.”

“….I heard it too,” Sasha whimpers, latching onto Connie’s shoulder.

“Come on, guys,” Reiner chuckles, “You’ve fought titans and you’re afraid of a couple noises—“

The sounds of footsteps echo down the corridor, unevenly paced. The susurration of whispers follows, too indistinct to tease apart the words. A chill wind blows, freezes the trainees in place.

Bertholdt speaks up and says what everyone is thinking: “Can we just find a place to hide?!”

There’s a scramble as the trainees search for the nearest unlocked door, though Armin has to tug Mikasa away from the corridor—“Mikasa, it doesn’t matter if you think you’re strong, just hurry up and go!”

The room they find themselves in is surprisingly clean, furnished with a large desk and somewhat threadbare chair, several bookcases lining the walls, and a beaten sofa off to one side. There’s a supply closet imbedded into one of the walls. They freak out just a little bit when they find that there’s no lock on the door at all, and instead press up against the wooden door as best they can to listen for any other sounds.

The footsteps haven’t faded. In fact, they’re moving closer.

“Shit! Whatever it is it’s coming closer,” Reiner whisper-shouts.

Bertholdt buries his face in his hands behind Reiner’s back. His distant drone of, “We’re dooooooomed,” is almost startlingly loud in the seconds of silence where everyone tries not to panic, and decide what to do.

“Fuck it, just hide,” Jean hisses, ever the voice of reason, diving for the space beneath the desk. Armin and Mikasa end up squished there with him, while the other four pile into the supply closet. Jean tries not to be too ecstatic when he accidentally gets a face full of Mikasa’s hair.

Hidden and on high alert, it becomes obvious that the footsteps are moving toward the room. They stop briefly right in front of the door, and the creak of the door opening sounds like a distant death knell, until they hear voices.

“—did you need to speak to me about, Eren? Everything is going well, I hope?”

“Yes, Commander! There have been no problems, sir!”

Armin lets out a slow, quiet exhale in relief, and Mikasa’s face softens a little. Jean tries not to swoon at Mikasa’s cute reaction. Fucking Eren.

“Well then? What seems to be the problem?”

There’s the sound of boots scuffling on the ground, moving away from the door. The three under the desk flinch as the sound approaches, but it moves past them, before they hear the flump of a body hitting the lumpy sofa on the other side of the room.

“Eren—!”

An odd, wet, smacking sound, and a couple grunts. Heavy breathing.

Armin’s face has paled rapidly, highlighting the blush beginning to rise on his cheeks.

“…I’m just repaying the favor sir,” Eren says, voice breathless, and there’s another wet smack accompanied by the unmistakable clink of the belts of the maneuver gear, the same clink the trainees all hear when slipping them on in the morning. His voice is almost sultry, low, raspy. “Will you let me take care of you?”

Jean gives Armin a quick glance, petrified. Armin’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head, and the he shakes his head, a death grip latched onto Mikasa’s arm, where she’s straining to get away, murderous glare plastered on her face.

Someone needs to tell them that they aren’t about to hear Eren having sex with Commander Erwin.

The sofa banging against the wall, the thump of a body landing on the cushions, and Eren’s quiet groan is quickly muffled with another suck, and their breathing echoes through the room, wet and heavy.

“…you’re fifteen,” the Commander whispers, “How are you doing this to me?”

Belts begin hitting the floor, the buckles jingling, clothes rustle and they’re clearly kissing at this point, each suck and smack deafening.

“Nn—No,” Eren pants, sounding a little delirious. “No. You can’t touch me.”

“Why not?” Erwin asks between quiet sucking noises, as Eren chokes off with a high whimper. “You like it when I touch you.”

“No,” Eren insists, and the clink of the belts returns. “You can’t. I’m supposed to take care of you today.” Erwin sighs a little, and there’s a brief moment of respite as there’s more clinking, the sound of leather being pulled tight.

“Better?” Erwin’s voice is resonant, rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Much better… _sir_ ,” Eren croons in response, the metallic whisper of a zipper, and the scrape of the sofa feet against stone floor accompanying the sloppy, wet sounds that fill the air. Erwin’s own breathing deepens, and a tightly leashed groan winds its way out from between his teeth.

Mikasa’s muscles are locked tight, her face caught somewhere between anger and interest. Armin’s already given up, and has just draped himself over Mikasa, using his body weight to hold her down, trying to keep his hands over his ears. Even the tips of his ears are red. Jean is too busy being traumatized to be jealous of him.

Eren hums a little; the Commander releases another quiet moan.

“Stop, Eren…” Whatever Erwin is about to say ends in a wheeze and grunt.

“No,” Eren refuses him. “No. You’re not allowed to cum.”

Erwin hisses, and fabric rustles, hits the floor. The sofa springs creak, and there’s the crisp crack and pop of a cap being released. It takes only seconds before the sound of soft panting and ambiguous squelching emerges, accompanied by Erwin’s fast intake of breath. It seems to go on for a day.

“Mm, enjoying—ah—enjoying the view?” Eren asks, voice shot through with barely restrained lust, and the twist it takes into an unrestrained mewl is completely involuntary.

“Quite,” Erwin responds, shaken, and the sofa creaks again as they kiss and separate noisily. Erwin makes a jolt of sound, a segment of a shout, following a slow, wet slide and squelch.

“You’re, you’re really tight,” he pants.

Eren moans, unrestrained, loud. “You’re too big,” he gasps, “It’s not fair.” He makes a couple more grunts and moans, and eventually settles with a sigh.

“Commander,” he calls, a beckon in his voice. “Erwin. It’s all in. See?” The abrupt creak of the sofa springs, more squelching. Eren’s delighted chuckle hitches and tumbles through the air as Erwin begins to lose it, his pleasure felt in a series of drawn-out groans and short vocalizations. The sofa creaks at a punishing rate, and the wet sounds of sex only get louder, faster.

“Ah—does it—Commander, is it good?” Eren groans, but he breaks off in a breathless laugh.

Jean isn’t sure if he should find it funny that Eren’s aware that he’s been using porn lines on purpose this entire time. All he knows is that he’ll never be able to look at dirty comics again without thinking of this moment, and how damned sexy Eren sounds—and Eren isn’t supposed to be sexy, period, but his dick is telling him a different story. He supposes Armin has it worse, the boy looks like one aneurysm away from passing out. Is Mikasa blushing? He’d care more if he wasn’t busy digging himself a grave at the moment.

Erwin doesn’t respond, not directly. “My hands, Eren,” he pants.

“No,” Eren moans petulantly, punctuating his refusal with a particularly punishing sofa creak. “You’re coming in my ass or not at all.”

Jean pretends he can’t hear Armin choking silently on air, or the blood beginning to drop from a catatonic Mikasa’s nose. He thinks she’s finally discovered hormones. The mental images race through his head, and he squirms in discomfort, tries to hide his erection from the others.

“’s messy,” Erwin pants, “Levi will be furious—“

The back of the sofa begins to bang against the wall, and the others in the supply closet can probably hear the sofa springs screaming from there.

“Don’t,” Eren hisses, anger coloring his voice, and Erwin makes helpless sounds of pleasure as the sofa rocks. “Don’t talk about him while you’re here with me.”

“Eren,” Erwin gasps, the slip, slide and slap of flesh on flesh, the wet and slick of mouths on skin, “Eren.”

“Yes,” Eren sighs in return, soft and gentle once again. “Mm, you’re close aren’t you?”

It sounds like the sofa is on the verge of falling apart. The springs are probably flat by now.

“You could have me like this if you wanted, you know.” Eren begins to murmur, the final nail in the coffin. “There’s—ah—there’s already chains in the basement, you could, you could come down at night, come and see me or something _—nnh!_ “ Eren’s voice rises, spiraling higher in pleasure, almost a scream as he reaches orgasm. Erwin is not far behind, his release contained in a hoarse bellow.

 As he stares morosely at the transparent patch that begins to leak through the tent of his pants, Jean understands with sudden clarity why an orgasm is sometimes called “the little death”. For his part, Armin looks like he’s already dead, and Mikasa looks constipated, angry, aroused and eager, all at once.

Eren and Erwin are not any quieter afterwards, since the Commander decides doing cleanup with his mouth is the best option, but eventually, finally, they leave the room.

Mikasa wipes at her nosebleed as she piggybacks Armin out from beneath the desk. He’s out cold. Reiner and Bertholdt don’t look any better off than Jean does, while Connie looks a little green about the gills. Sasha laughs nervously.

“Well, at least now we know who got the booty.”

Jean stares at her, wipes his hand on Connie’s shirt.

“Hey, what did you just wipe on me?!”

“My faith in sanity.”

There will never be enough therapy.


End file.
